


the truths we speak in the cover of night

by lvllns



Series: thedas, but make it modern [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, also half-elf carver!, look someone has to write for them and if it has to be me so be it, this is mostly very soft but it does touch on malcolm’s death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23867707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lvllns/pseuds/lvllns
Summary: Carver’s in bed, not sleeping like he should be, when he realizes that he knew for sure he was in love with Alistair the night his father died.
Relationships: Alistair/Carver Hawke
Series: thedas, but make it modern [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695325
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	the truths we speak in the cover of night

**Author's Note:**

> this wouldn’t leave me alone. i wrote it in a few hours. there’s a tie-in with penelope i want to write as well but i really wanted to focus on these two so that will happen at a later date.

Carver’s in bed, not sleeping like he should be, when he realizes that he knew for sure he was in love with Alistair the night his father died.

They had only been together a year. A year of seeing each other on the weekends once Alistair got a car. A year of texts and late night phone calls and his sisters mercilessly teasing him in the way only sisters can. He hated it so much at the time but now…

He was sixteen when his father had a heart attack. Carver had been in Redcliffe with Alistair when it happened. They were hanging out at a park doing something stupid probably when Bethany called him hysterical. A babble of “ambulance” and “Denerim” and “Carver it’s Da, we can’t lose Da.”

Alistair hadn’t even hesitated. He simply bundled Carver into his car and started driving. He drove an hour to Denerim with nothing but country music softly playing on the radio because Carver couldn’t feel his legs or his hands, let alone remember how to speak. Mother had been texting him updates, short things, little things, and he was waiting for Penelope to say something. Do something. Call him maybe, text him at least, to say she was on her way home but nothing had come.

He had been so furious and hurt. She was off in Rivain with friends celebrating their graduation from college. Da had the heart attack the day after she texted them all to let them know she was safe in the hotel with Sebastian and their friends. He remembers feeling so slighted that she had chosen her friends over her family, and it had cut so deep he wasn’t sure the wound would ever heal.

When Da died on Thursday, Carver lashed out. At Bethany. At mother. At Alistair. He couldn’t believe Penelope hadn’t come home. Carver wanted someone to swing at and he had taken his anguish out on Alistair in the form of being short and snapping and telling him to fuck off.

Alistair was the one who suggested calling Nellie. Said maybe she didn’t know. Carver thought that was ridiculous. Surely mother told her. She had to know because if she didn’t know...

He remembers texting her, telling her to call him when she had a moment and it was two in the morning in Rivain but his phone had rung thirty seconds later.

They really are the same, when it comes down to it.

The horror in her voice when he told her...Carver knows he’ll never forget it. Carver also knows he’s never been more thankful for Sebastian than he was that night.

Carver must shift in bed, twitch or something, because Alistair groans and flops around with a hand until it smacks the middle of his bare chest, blunt nails curling against his skin.

“Wron’ Carv?” Alistair’s voice is thick with sleep, slurred and rough.

Carver drags a hand through Alistair’s hair. Kisses the crown of his skull. “Nothing, lost in thought. Go back to sleep, love.”

It doesn’t work. Alistair sits up. Stretches and yawns and drapes himself over Carver like the most comfortable blanket he’s ever owned. Warm and familiar, soft and safe.

“Talk,” he mumbles against Carver’s temple, lips brushing against his skin. “‘M awake now.”

Carver winces. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” a kiss to his forehead. “We’ve been doing this too long to apologize about disrupting each other’s sleep.”

And, well, that’s so on the nose it burns. They both have nightmares, less frequently now, but they’ve woken up to the other thrashing and whimpering and sobbing too many times for this disruption to gnaw at Carver’s bones like it is.

“I was just...I was thinking about when Da died,” he swallows hard. Feels Alistair sit up a little straighter, his shoulder moving to press against his own in a firm, grounding touch. “I think that was the first time I realized I love you.”

Oh he wishes he could bring himself to pull his stare away from his hands and look at Alistair’s face because the man makes a sound like a whale, high-pitched and reedy, and Carver knows his face is red. It’s endearing, how easily Alistair gets flustered even after all this time. Theodore, their mabari, huffs and grumbles and slides off the bed like he’s boneless before nosing the door open and leaving the two of them alone in the dark.

“That was, we had only been together like a year Carv.”

He hums. “Mhm, but you dropped everything to help me and you stuck with me” he flicks his gaze from his hands to Alistair’s face. “It just,” huffs a breath through his nose. “Ali, it meant a lot.  _ Means _ a lot. What you did. You — I was so ready to cut Nellie off entirely.”

“It wasn’t her fault.”

“I know that now but if you hadn’t been there I think it would have taken me a lot longer to find out and accept it.”

Alistair makes a soft sound. Moves to press his face against Carver’s throat. “What brought this up?”

He’s silent for a while. Wrings his hands around as he chews on his bottom lip. Alistair doesn’t push him, he’s good about knowing when to wait. He just drags his fingers up and down Carver’s bare arm and back while rain knocks on the window.

That’s one of the things he can’t quite get used to in Kirkwall, the summer rains. It’s so different from Ferelden, from Lothering. A sharp contrast for the split in his life so clearly marked “before” and “after.”

“It’ll be five years on Friday.”

Alistair inhales sharply. “Shit,” he moves to sit against the wall.

Carver finds himself being moved and manipulated, adjusted until his back is against Alistair’s chest, the other man’s legs on either side of his own. Strong arms wrap around him, an easy familiar pressure against the skin of his stomach, and when he feels Alistair’s nose brush the thin skin behind his ear, Carver breaks a little. He shivers, shudders really, and bends forward. Drops all of his weight into Alistair’s hands without a thought because he knows, he knows in his bones, down to the very core of himself, that Alistair will hold him steady.

He cries. Carver cries and cries until he feels wrung out and empty. When he’s done, what feels like days later, he pushes his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. Alistair is humming behind him, something vaguely familiar, and then it clicks and Carver laughs.

“Are you humming Andraste’s Mabari?”

A snort from the man behind him. “Maybe,” lips press against his neck but it’s not a kiss, not really. Just another bit of pressure. Another thing to ground himself with and Carver will never know what he did to deserve Alistair but Maker, he is so grateful for him. “Is your mother doing the whole, uh, get together thing?”

“On Saturday,” his nose wrinkles. “I don’t know that Nellie will be there.”

“Do you blame her?”

“Absolutely not,” he turns, moves his head enough so he can see the outline of Alistair’s face. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Alistair reaches up and brushes the hair from Carver’s eyes.

Carver shakes his head. “For a lot of things, really,” he shifts, turns around in Alistair’s lap so they’re facing each other, Carver on his knees between the other man’s legs. He traces a thumb over Alistair’s ear, down to his jaw. “But, for tonight, for being there when I really need it. You’re, Maker Alistair, you’re something special.”

Even in the dark, he can see the blush that floods Alistair’s face. It covers his nose, races down his neck to his chest and slips up to the tips of his softly pointed ears. Carver has never been quite so grateful for his elven blood.

“Six years, we’ve been together six years and you still,” Alistair waves his hand around as he looks at the wall to their left. “Fucks sake Carver, you’re going to make me catch fire,” he fans at his face.

Carver chuckles. Leans forward and places a soft kiss to his collarbone. He feels Alistair tense, just a little, before melting and he hums. Slowly moves his mouth from collarbone to shoulder to throat, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. He bites down at the corner of his jaw, below his ear, and sucks hard enough to leave a mark. Hard enough that Alistair whines a little. There are hands on his hips now, strong hands that flex and clutch and Carver smirks against his boyfriend’s neck.

“Carv,” only half of his name and it’s barely a word really, more a breath or a sigh.

Carver pulls back, kisses Alistair soundly on the mouth. When the need for air becomes almost too much, he moves to rest their foreheads together and says, “I love you.”

Alistair shivers beneath him, a full body shake and suddenly there are fingers in his hair and a mouth against his and it’s urgent. Urgent and needy and sloppy. Carver grabs onto whatever he can, whatever is closest, and it happens to be Alistair’s shoulders. That will work for now. He holds on and presses back against the other man. Licks at his bottom lip, licks into his mouth when nails scrape down his back.

“We, Carv,” Alistair groans when Carver braces a palm against his lower stomach, fingers curling against the soft flesh and dragging through the thatch of hair that disappears beneath his sweats. “Babe, it’s like three in the morning,” he mumbles against Carver’s mouth.

Alistair pulls back, hazel eyes glassy and blown. A hand lifts, slowly and gently, to cup Carver’s face. Thumb brushing over his flushed cheeks before pressing against his mouth.

Carver quirks a brow, and sucks Alistair’s thumb into his mouth.

The very softly muttered, “Fuck,” is worth it.

He pulls back, releases the finger with a wet pop and closes his eyes. Rests his forehead against his boyfriend’s shoulder and sags against him. “We should sleep.”

“Unbelievable,” there’s no heat to the word. Carver laughs. “You’re right though.”

“‘Course I am,” he places a gentle kiss to Alistair’s cheek. “We don’t have anything to do tomorrow anyway, we can sleep in.”

Alistair makes a content sound as he moves. Wiggling away from Carver so he can settle on his back, head on the pillows. He lifts an arm, bounces his eyebrows until Carver snorts a laugh and crawls over to flop down at his side. He curls around the other man, head on his chest, arm across his body, legs twined together. A hand smooths through his hair, nails scratching over his scalp and he feels his body start to relax.

“We can walk Theodore to that little cafe,” Alistair’s voice is barely a whisper. A soothing hum against the white noise of the rain and their ceiling fan. “Get brunch or something.”

“Where is Teddy? Did he come back?”

Carver feels Alistair shrug, broad shoulders shifting underneath his head. “No, he’s probably drooling on the sofa.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said a dog would be a good idea,” he pokes Alistair’s ribs and smiles when he squirms away from his touch before, inevitably, moving back to him.

“And you’re the one who brought home a mabari puppy.”

Carver sits up, places a hand on the middle of Alistair’s chest and gives him the most indignant look he can muster with a smile threatening to break across his face. “He was twelve weeks old! I couldn’t say no to that face!”

Alistair snorts and they both lose it. Burst into laughter and Carver curls back down, wraps around his boyfriend and kisses his chest through the giggles. A warm hand squeezes his hip a second before there’s a pair of lips on his forehead and Carver thinks he’s never been so happy.

Sure he wishes things were a little different but he’s fine with his job, and he really can’t ask for more than he has. A good dog, a nice apartment, and a boyfriend who means the world to him.

He swallows hard, blinks and waits for the steady rise and fall of Alistair’s chest to slow before he whispers, “I’m going to marry you.”

Nothing changes.

And that’s how Carver knows it’s the best decision he’s ever made.

**Author's Note:**

> they’re good together, modern au or otherwise.  
> y’all can find me on tumblr.


End file.
